


Darling D

by daynight



Series: Telegraph Avenue [2]
Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bar/Pub, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Rock Band, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-06
Updated: 2015-02-06
Packaged: 2018-03-10 19:14:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3300572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daynight/pseuds/daynight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Babe Heffron settles into life in California, complete with a job in a record store, moody co-workers and a solemn bartender.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Darling D

**Author's Note:**

> Don't own characters, no disrespect to real men, based solely off TV depictions.

Babe never wanted to go back to Philadelphia.

California had everything he could have ever wanted. Sea, sun, fun people. For an 18 year old who was accustomed to freezing his balls off in the snow, it was heaven. Of course, there was also the music school he had just started, which was allowing him to hone his craft to perfection and to follow the direction of a new and sophisticated sound. He loved it, had never felt happier than when soaking in the sun and the scent of tropical flowers down Berkeley side streets. 

There were other reasons why he never wanted to go back but he didn't want to think about them. Couldn't think about them. Couldn't allow himself to fall into that. 

He even had a job here, a proper job!  That was a first. He had attended the interview about a week ago, the famous Nix records hiring him, who would have thought? Anyone who knew anything about music would be impressed.  Babe brimmed with pride. To be honest, the interview had been surprisingly easy. The disheveled owner, with his scratchy stubble and small glass of whiskey, had asked him a couple questions, looked Babe over with his baseball cap and worn tee-shirt and had just said 'you'll do' after Babe had babbled about the fact he had no experience in a store but a genuine love for music and, obviously, records. Of course he loved records, they had been his livelihood as an amateur DJ and electronic music creator since he was about 15. 

He liked his coworker plenty too, despite the fact that he could be a little prickly. Babe had assumed they were the same age until Joe righted him with a sardonic laugh, huffed around a lit cigarette. No matter, Babe had plenty of friends at college to be immature with. Life was looking pretty damn good.

 

* * *

 

 

It was a Saturday, one of Babe's days and Liebgott came down the stairs from his apartment above the store (how he managed to wrangle that, babe did not yet know) at the end of Babe's shift. He shot Babe a smirking grin. 

"Yo, new guy. I'm going to The Battalion, wanna come?" 

Babe had nothing else to do but play video games with his dorm mates and maybe smoke a couple. Not particularly exciting. He used to go out a lot in Philadelphia with his best friend, back when their nights were filled with dj-ing at various clubs and underground locations. He had been somewhat of an underage phenomenon, a novelty among the clubbers. He missed that kind of nightlife, and The Battalion, with its up-market dive bar charm was about the closest thing he was going to find to that kind of atmosphere, without the added pressure of working the decks. Babe slipped on his jacket, following Liebgott to the establishment, chattering excitedly all the way.

“Hey, Joe, do you make music?”

“Not recently.” Liebgott took a deep drag of his cigarette as they walked down towards the bar.

“Yeah, me neither. Me and my buddy Bill used to produce our own electronic music together, but I moved away and he’s doing his own thing. Doing pretty well I think! Do you like EDM?”

“Nope.”

“Ah shit, really? Not even a little?”

“Nah, give me a guitar any day.” Liebgott did seem like more of a rock music kind of guy, with his battered jackets and jeans with ripped knees.

“I’m trying to do newer stuff anyway. Move in a new direction. I mean, I loved my old stuff but it’s time for a change, y’know? Can’t just make club music all the time.”

“What the fuck are you talking about, Babe?”  

“Just shooting shit, thinkin’.”

“Well stop thinkin’, we’re here.”

They halted and paused outside the bar, Liebgott finished his smoke and talked with the two bouncers outside, a huge hulking blonde and a smaller guy with a mean looking face. Babe removed his cap and ran a hand through his auburn hair, neatening up.  Passing through the door as Liebgott flashed a conspiratorial grin to the bouncers, they entered the bar.

 

* * *

 

 

Liebgott easily cut through the crowd, heading straight to order. People tended to just move out of his way, he was that kind of guy. Babe faithfully followed, enjoying the red-lit atmosphere and low, thumping music.

“Hey, Doc.”

The guy behind the bar turned around from where he was mixing drinks, squinting to recognise Liebgott.

“Hey Liebgott, you good?” He returned to his task, expertly pouring shots of whiskey. Babe noted that he had a really interesting accent with a deep, nice tone to it. Very easy on the ears.

After five minutes, the barman, who appeared to be on good terms with Liebgott considering the speed in which they were served, came over to stand in front of them. He had pale skin and vivid dark hair, eyebrows in a permanent furrow. Liebgott nudged Babe.

“Babe, this is Doc Roe. We call him the Doc ‘cuz he knows how to medicate.” Liebgott chuckled, then his eyes grew more serious in expression. “Plus, he’s actually really good to talk to.” The ‘Doc’ gave them a very small smile.

“What’ll it be today, Liebgott?”

“Just a beer thanks, Doc. Babe?” Babe screwed up his nose, considering.

“JD and coke, please.” The Doc raised an eyebrow at him.

“I’m gon’ need to see some ID” Babe grinned in a way he hoped was charming. He had a fail-safe. He rustled around in his jean pocket, then handed the small card over.

“Right.” Muttered the barman, his face a picture of concentration as he stared at the card. He got a mini flashlight from his pocket and shone it over the surface. Clicking the flashlight off, he handed the card back to Babe.

“This is fake as hell.” Babe felt himself flush heavily, feeling flustered.

“What! Aw, man. It always worked in Philly!”  Liebgott just laughed at Babe’s distress, shaking his head.

“One beer for Joe, one nothin’ and coke for Edward.” The Doc moved away after serving, leaving Liebgott snickering and Babe sulking over his coke. Edward. No one called him Edward. Not even his mom.

 

* * *

 

 

Sunday at the record store was quiet, so usually Babe did some of his classwork on the counter while Liebgott sat around, reading comics. He didn’t really need to be there so Babe assumed he was just bored. Two teenage boys entered and Babe shot them a welcoming smile.

“Hey, how can I help you?”

“Do you guys have any like, 'Disclosure'?”

“Oh you like that kinda thing? Hang on, let me have a look around.” Babe listed off some recommendations, thrilled that the kids seemed to know what he was talking about.

“Man, I haven’t spoken to anyone about this kinda shit for so long! I used to make some music myself.” From the back of the store, he could hear Liebgott snort.

“Really? What like?”

“Do you know anything about the Philadelphia club scene?”

“You mean like, Wild Bill and stuff?”  Babe lit up with excitement.

“Yeah! No shit, Bill is one of my best friends! We used to make music together!”

“Wait!” One of the kids looked his name badge. Liebgott always refused to wear his, but sometimes Babe wore one for fun. “You’re Babe Heffron? From South Philly Collective?”

“Wow! I’m surprised you know!” Another loud snort from Liebgott, who was certainly getting his fill of amusement from this conversation, probably a nice break from constant comic books. “We only played around the city.” The kids seemed really impressed by this discovery.

“I love that song ‘Darling D’ you did that came out a couple of years ago. That’s how I knew about you.”

Darling D. That song had haunted Babe from the moment of its release. Haunted and mocked him with it’s relative local success. The story of ‘Darling D’ was one of Bill’s particular favourite anecdotes, and Babe could practically hear him recite it to their enraptured buddies, to anyone who would listen really. He enjoyed telling it that much.

“Let’s set the scene. I was 18, Babe was 16. She was his first girlfriend, girl named Doris. Pretty hot chick, despite the grandma name. So anyway, Babe writes this sappy little tune about Doris, it goes something like ‘Everyday I want to be close to you, flying over oceans just to be near you, just to be with my Darling D’ and we put it to a great beat, looped it, had some really good stuff in there. Nice retro sound, like a ‘Four Tops’ remix or some shit. The next day after we release it on our soundcloud, it blows up. We’re even getting radio hits, all the clubs in Philly are playing and, fuck, it’s raising our rep. We’re booking jobs left and right. The next day, bam, she fucking finishes with him! But get this, the song is still fucking popular! So we have to do all these nights, spin it all the time and Babe is like, cryin’ like a bitch, cuz he has to keep on playing this song about loving her so much after she fucking dumped him. Funniest thing in my life.”

Babe still cringed at the very mention of the track.

 

* * *

 

 

The next Wednesday was a very bad day, the worst day of the year. Babe had specifically asked for it off and when Liebgott started to raise hell in protest he had taken one look at Babe’s grim face and promptly dropped it. Even he was sensitive enough to realise that this was an issue that should not be fucked with.

Babe sat in his dorm for a bit, but couldn’t figure out what to do with himself. He couldn’t work, couldn’t concentrate but he couldn’t seem to do anything else, just wanted to sit on the corner of his bed, staring at a spot on the ball until it blurred into visual white noise. He couldn’t bring himself to listen to music, just soaked in the miserable silence. His limbs hung uselessly at his sides. He still couldn’t even cry about it.

It would be easier, he had told himself, not to think about it too much. Not to think about Philadelphia, never to go back there. To reserve his sadness for one day, today, the anniversary, then try to forget about it for the rest of the year. It wasn’t working. It probably never would.

Sighing deeply, he slung on his jacket and headed out for a walk.

He found himself outside The Battalion. It was busy during the day, this time with the restaurant crowd, and Babe figured they might have another barman on shift who wouldn’t check his fake ID quite as vigilantly. Maybe drowning your sorrows works, that’s what they do in movies, right?

No such luck, the same melancholy barman, the Doc, was there, wiping down the bar diligently. He looked up, frowning, to see Babe.

“Hey, you know you shouldn’t be in here.” Babe shrugged, flopping down onto a bar stool and giving in to the mounting despair, letting his head fall in his hands. After a couple of seconds of scrubbing at his eyes, willing tears, he looked up. The Doc was standing in front of him now, a picture of concern.

“You okay?” Babe allowed himself a bitter, hollow laugh.

“Nah, not really.” The Doc pursed his lips, a thin red line against his white face. He waited. “Today is a bad, bad day.”

“What’s bad about it?” Babe shook his head slightly and dropped it into his arms, taking a deep breath. He leaned his forehead against the cool bar.

“A year ago today, my friend died.” Babe could hear the audible, even exhale of the barman.

“I’m sorry.”  Babe knew he couldn’t understand. He was sorry, everyone was sorry. Babe was more than sorry, he was guilty. He was burdened with the horrible debt of a friend’s life.

“It was my fault.”

“What?” The Doc’s forehead wrinkled.

“It was my fucking fault.”

The Doc paused, waited, as Babe’s words began bubbling out, like a dam had been broken under the barman’s calm gaze.

“He came out with me. I was only 17, he thought it was so cool that I got to go to all these parties and play at all the clubs. He thought it was awesome. I told him to come along, I’d get him in. I did, of course I fucking did, showing off like an idiot. When my set came on, I told him to go off, have fun, make friends. His name was John Julian, just 16 years old, just a kid.”

“What happened?”

“They found him later, after my set was finished. Somebody had called the ambulance. Overdose on bad pills in the bathroom of a club. What a fucking way to go.”

The Doc was silent, listening, eyes cast downwards respectfully. Still as a statue as Babe’s words cracked and broke, his eyes growing fuzzy with the threat of tears. Babe didn’t even care that he was beginning to choke up a bit, shoulders shaking.

“He shouldn’t have even been there. Shit, he shouldn’t have.” Babe dropped his head in his hands, but he still couldn’t cry, no matter how much he was shaking. He tried to hide his face, he wasn’t ashamed about his grief but he didn’t want to upset the other customers in the bar, didn’t want to ruin their days too.

A shuffling sound, quick and easy. Babe felt a cool hand on his arm, shivered, and opened his screwed up eyes. The Doc had somehow hopped over the bar like it was nothing and was now using his body to shield Babe from view, hanging over him, oddly comforting.

“Hey, come with me.”

He guided Babe away from the bar by his trembling shoulders and threw a clipped shout behind him to one of the waitresses.

“Faye, watch the bar for me.”

He led Babe to a small store room in the corner of the bar and ushered him inside, settling him down to sit on a barrel. After a beat of empty noise as Babe shivered, the Doc, sat opposite on another barrel, leaned forward hesitantly.

“Edward, hey, Edward.” Babe looked up. The Doc’s eyes were slightly rimmed red.

“It’s not your fault. You can’t tell yourself it is. It’s not your fault.” He placed his hand on Babe’s shoulder again, shaking it slightly to make his point and Babe leaned into it, finally starting to cry.

He wasn’t sure how long he remained there in the stock room, sobbing on Doc’s arm as he comforted him, a soothing hand on his back. He was sure that at some point the Doc even whipped out a napkin and wiped up the snot from under Babe’s nose. It was a little embarrassing, sat there bawling like a baby as the other man gently hushed him, but it was also nice, cathartic. He hadn’t managed to let this out for an entire year but now it seemed like the easiest thing. Eventually, the tears began to slow. The Doc softly removed his arm from Babe, the sleeve of his t-shirt slightly damp.

“Hey.” He whispered. “I gotta get back to work, but you take as long as you want, okay?” Babe blinked at him, nose red and eyes watery. The Doc offered him a little smile, touched his shoulder, then left the stockroom. Hastily mopping at his eyes, Babe waited five minutes to compose himself and slipped out of the stock room and out onto the street, strangely peaceful.

 

* * *

 

 

The next day, after his shift, Liebgott once again decided that he wanted Babe to accompany him to the bar. Babe wasn’t so sure about it, he was still feeling tender from the last time he was there and he cried on the barman. The Doc probably thought he was unhinged, or maybe just felt sorry for him.

“C’mon Babe, I’m fed up with going to the bar alone.” Liebgott whined, slipping on his leather jacket.

“Fine, fine, just for a bit.” Liebgott had been a good friend that afternoon, not even mentioning Babe’s uncharacteristic mood slump and lack of enthusiasm. He felt drained, but far better than he had. The moment in the storeroom had really healed him. Babe followed Liebgott out of the store.

When they entered the bar, after a few moments of bantering with the bouncers, Babe’s eyes immediately sought out the bartender in the half-dark. He was easy to find, fluorescent in his white shirt, lithe pale arms leaning on the bar. Babe sucked in a sharp breath. The Doc looked up, fixed Babe in his gaze then quickly averted it. Ah. So that was how it was going to be. Babe felt embarrassed and silly. They settled at the bar and Babe turned his body into the crowd as the bartender approached them.

“Liebgott.” He nodded. “Edward.” Babe half nodded back, still pointing away, not wanting to look at him. Liebgott raised an eyebrow at him, ordering a whiskey with ice. Babe focused on laughing, dancing people and the glowing neon of the lights. He felt a familiar hand tap his back.

“Edward.” Babe turned back. He was holding out a Hersheys bar.

“You feelin’ better?” Babe graciously took the bar. He wasn’t going to lie, he was still enough of a kid that chocolate usually improved everything.

“Yeah, thanks.” He replied, and he felt himself blush at the sight of the Doc’s tiny, hinted smile.

 

* * *

 

 

Babe found himself using every excuse he could to come back to the bar.

It wasn’t really the atmosphere. It certainly wasn’t the drink selection, as the Doc still refused to serve Babe anything with even a hint of alcohol.

Who was he trying to kid, it was Doc.

Babe found out his name was Eugene Roe and he was originally from Louisiana. Doc was pretty tight lipped about everything else, instead just calmly listening and replying with a murmured ‘uh huh’ whilst Babe excitedly rambled on about all sorts of things whilst Doc cleaned the bar. Babe pretty much told him about every detail of his life, Philadelphia, Bill, the record store, his teenage DJ career, which is how he got his nickname of ‘Babe’ for being the youngest member of his collective, his favourite kind of music, shit, even his favourite foods. Every now and again, Doc would relay a tiny bit of information to Babe, like the fact that he only drank on his days off, and it would be Babe’s favourite part of the day, just hearing that deep, melodic voice. Doc didn’t seem to be that interested in Babe’s chatter but he didn’t try to make him leave either, so Babe decided that he was just tolerating him to be nice. He didn’t mind. He just liked being near him.

One afternoon, Babe was chilling at the bar, ‘working’ on a new arrangement for class whilst Doc Roe stacked glasses. He had been telling him a boisterous account of the one time he broke his arm on the jungle gym when he was 9, peaking around his laptop to try and catch his expressions.

Liebgott, who really should have been minding the record store, burst into the bar triumphantly.

“Babe!” He was smiling in a threatening way.

Babe wasn’t sure how Liebgott had known he would be there, but turned around expectantly.

“Huh?” Liebgott’s grin was massive and vaguely unsettling.

“Guess what I found?” A sing-song tone. He removed his iPod from his pocket, turning the volume up high so it could be audible. The opening peppy tones of Babe’s embarrassing, painful one hit wonder, ‘Darling D’, started to emenate from the speakers. He tried to grab the iPod, blushing furiously. Liebgott just held it out of his grasp and laughed.

“Gimme that…fuck, Joe!”

Babe desperately tried to catch the iPod out of his juggling hands before the cheesy lyrics started up. For some reason, the thought of Doc hearing the tune was reprehensible. Liebgott was a slippery little bastard, easily wriggling away, now mockingly mouthing along with the song. Babe tackled him around the slim waist, and tried to wrestle Liebgott away, silencing him and his iPod. Still laughing, Liebgott whispered in his ear.

“What, don’t want your crush knowing you’ve had other boo’s?” Babe blanched momentarily then resumed trying to get the iPod away from Liebgott, wrenching it out of his hands.

“I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.” He breathed, then choked as Liebgott casually elbowed him in the stomach with a skinny sharp arm, escaping from his hold and pinching his iPod back out of his hands. Babe doubled over, slightly chuckling.

“Gotta go, workin’ or some shit.” Liebgott jogged over to the door. “Hey Doc, don’t forget. ‘Darling D’. Look it up!”

Panicked, Babe quickly swung around to tell Doc **never** to look it up, to just forget about it completely. He opened his mouth to begin a tirade against Joe but no words came out when he noticed that Doc was doing something he had never seen him do. He was laughing, just a little, out of the side of his mouth, his smile turned up and reluctant. The laugh disappeared as quickly as it had come, and he fit his features back into their usual look of slight concern, returning to his glasses.

Babe felt his heart race like an 808 on speed.

It was then he knew he was truly fucked.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm imagining 'Darling D' to sound similar to Dr Don Don's 'King Of The Stars'. 
> 
> Also imagining Bill and Babe spinning records wearing like, neon vests and face paint, jumping around in some warehouse. 
> 
> This takes place a couple of months before 'Stop The World'. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
